


Quote-Inspired Fics + Ficlets - #2

by DovahDoes



Series: Quote-Inspired Fics (& Ficlets) [2]
Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Jason Brody/Vaas Montenegro, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Quote Challenge, Vaason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovahDoes/pseuds/DovahDoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in the series of Quote Challenge responses.<br/>*</p><p>It's rare that Jason gets the best of Vaas in a battle: there are <i>definitely</i> extenuating circumstances.  That is, Vaas is losing a fight, but it's kind of on purpose...</p><p>(Slight AU, as per the Vaason relationship and the tweaking of some events.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quote-Inspired Fics + Ficlets - #2

**Author's Note:**

> So I post a LOT of quotes on my FC3 tumblr, and I thought that it would be A Good Exercise and also maybe A Learning Experience for me to use them as inspiration for some fics and ficlets. 
> 
> Hence, this little series! Hopefully something is to your liking.  
> 

 

_**“I love you. Remember. They cannot take it.”** **– Lauren Oliver** _

 

___________

 

There is blood trickling down the side of his face, tracing a path over his temple and towards his ear.  The air is thick— or is that thin?  (The trembling hands wrapped around his throat are restricting enough oxygen intake that differentiating between such trivialities has become a true trial in mental exertion.)

 

Almost directly above him hovers a face he has come to associate with everything that denotes love, companionship, loyalty, and any number of other sappy concepts.  Typically, they are conveyed via a familiar, almost goofy sort of expression that communicates these things, but at this moment, his lover’s features are contorted in a harsh rictus of rage.  Or maybe some sort of desperate, terrified anger...  In any case, it’s clear that the murderous-looking man above him sees nothing but another target he has been told to eliminate.

 

The complete lack of recognition is the biggest concern, and is ultimately why Vaas has found himself on the losing side of this short— but intense— scuffle.  The body kneeling over him is far thinner than it was when last he’d seen it, something he’s noted any time a strike has been thrown with any follow-through (less mass has meant less momentum behind each blow).  Luckily, it also means that his opponent (lover-- his _lover_ , he reminds himself) isn’t _truly_ at full strength, or else this bout might’ve already ended, and not in his own favour.

 

“Ja- Jason. C-… corazón, _please_ ,” he grits out, the air moving weakly through wherever it can in his larynx, feeling raw like sandpaper and sounding just as rough.

 

Three months.  Three _fucking_ months, his other half has— _had_ been missing.  The last he’d heard of the once-infamous “Snow White” was an untraceable radio transmission of his quiet, tortured sobbing, merely one month into his absence.  Three days later, an anonymous parcel had arrived, its lower half sodden with blood.  Inside had been his lover’s severed ring finger: one half of their set of rings still on it.

 

That was when he figured it was all over.  The only reminder to those under his employ that they had once had _two_ bosses, was the pair of matching rings that hung on a long cord around Vaas’ neck.  Anyone foolish enough to mention any related subject (those with keywords like ‘Jason’, ‘Snow White’, or anything even rhyming with ‘Brody’) would soon be out of not just a job, but very likely their place on this mortal coil.

 

Back in the present, another droplet of blood falls onto a spot just above the pirate commander’s scarred brow, and quickly becomes part of the red trail meandering towards his upper jaw.  One of the hands pressing down into his neck lifts, and the slightly jittery man above him swipes ineffectively at the steadily leaking gash at his hairline.  Gratefully, the pirate lying prostrate beneath him sucks in several shallow breaths of air during this sudden reprieve.

 

All Vaas can hear above the roaring in his ears are the slothful thuds of his own heartbeat, but in the clearing haze of his vision, he sees his aggressor furrow his brows in confusion.  Then the other hand’s grip lessens in strength, sans any warning.  When his eyes open again— and it is _definitely_ bad that he is unaware they were ever closed— he watches the other man lower his raised hand, slowly, letting it gently linger atop his clavicle.  Grimy, twitching fingertips rest near the hollow of his throat— four points of light pressure on skin tacky with blood, sweat, and very likely, tears, too.

 

In the gap between the middle digit and the pinkie, sit their rings on their usual paracord braid.  For the first time in quite a long while, hope flares steady and calescent in Vaas.

 

The wan face above him appears to become even paler, and a wounded noise seems to unconsciously make its way out of the now very lost-looking male poised atop him.  The hand still lightly pressing against his jugular effectively relinquishes its grip, and the other curls about the two rings sitting near his collarbone.

 

The eyes above him seem to be a bit clearer, somehow— more aware— and meet his with less certainty, now.  The pupils vacillate between tiny pinpricks and enlarged saucers, like dark islands in blue-green irises.   At the same time, convulsively, the fist clutching part of his necklace tightens.  Ever-attentive, the Rakyat-born islander lets the moment develop organically, keen on seeing what happens next.

 

Miraculously, he willfully resists the intense urge to touch the bruised, swollen area around his lover’s right eye socket, as it seems movement _might_ just be permitted.  (Pretty boy’s gonna have one hell of a _moretón_ , soon…)  Now regaining some life, himself, he watches as the pale throat, heinously marred by dark ligature marks likely left by some sort of thick rope, actually moves.

 

When finally, it comes, the word is raspy and barely audible; perhaps the only one said in _months_ , but it is the all the more exceptional for it.

 

“V-…Vaas?”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Moretón** – Bruise  ( _Spanish_ )  [I thought about using _ojo de morado_ , which is the (best known) specific phrase for ‘black eye’, but the muse wasn’t feeling it. So yup. General term for a bruise. Eh.)

 **Corazón** – Heart  ( _Spanish_ )  [Used as an endearment, so it’d be more like ‘my heart’, or ‘my love’. You get the idea. I’m not one for translating endearments, as they make sense contextually, but fair is fair.]

 

Yeah... at some point in this AU, Jason defected from the Rakyat and joined up with Vaas (in every sense of the phrase *winkwink*).  So.

___________

 

Come find me on [Tumblr](http://www.citraisafuckboy.tumblr.com)! :3

 

**Author's Note:**

> Be niiccee to meee. This series of works is still only the second thing I have *ever* written, so I am very much in the learning process. (And my weird self-conscious ass still hasn't mustered up the guts to find a beta. Urghhh.)  
> *
> 
> Come check out [my writing blog](https://dovahdoeswrite.tumblr.com/), where I post early fic snippets and keep you updated on what i'm working on in what fandoms!  
>  
> 
> P.S. I looooves me some kudos! *hint hint* And damn, feel free to leave a little comment, down below, too! <33


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